


Caution to the Wind

by thearkwrites



Category: Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Fluff, M/M, Mech Preg, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pregnant Sex, Pseudo-Angst, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-04-24 17:29:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4928686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thearkwrites/pseuds/thearkwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A repository for my Drift/Fracture-centric writings. In the latest section/chapter, Sideswipe asks a question; Fracture answers it; Sideswipe regrets the question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Choice

"...frag it all!" Fracture gasped as overload consumed him, a massive wave of heat that flared through all of his systems.

With each smaller wave that rolled into the first, numerous static-laden cries escaped from his open mouth. He was a mess, a stark contrast from the unflappable soldier image he had meticulously cultivated over countless millenia. Lithe frame shook hard. Deep-red optics whitened out. Stretched valve clenched tightly around the spike mercilessly pounding dents into the too-small, too-tight space.

Underneath, Drift remained impassive as ever. Save for the occasional grunt, there was little to no noise coming from him. Not even when Fracture slammed down hard and took Drift's entire length into him. Not even when he finally experienced his own overload, a maelstrom of heat and desire wildly crashing into and around each other. Not even when he emptied his transfluids in thick bursts that overflowed out of the gorged valve.

He wordlessly shut his optics tight while Fracture tossed his helm backwards to scream his release to the stars, to the infinite expanse of space, to the sole witness of their illicit union. His scream disappeared into the black vastness and left them with nothing to break the haunting silence that followed.

The moon they had chosen to serve as the space for their interfacing was devoid of life, sentient or otherwise, and was as far away from any wandering Cybertronians as possible. This allowed them the opportunity to release all their pent-up emotional and sexual frustrations with impunity, as the scratches decorating Fracture's valve and aft rims and the faded dentae marks peppered upon Drift's spike could testify.

Drift's vice-like grip on the other's hips slackened and his arms fell to his sides. Fracture disentangled himself from the other soon after, sliding up and off the limp spike with oft-practised grace. He took his place by Drift's side then, with surprising gentleness, moved the other's arm around his waist. The smaller mech sighed contentedly as he relished the familiar warmth radiating from his companion. In response, Drift pulled Fracture closer, much closer, until he could feel the other's venting as low, steady reverberations.

For the moment, the war between their factions didn't exist.

For the moment, their requisite emnity had given way to their long-buried passions.

For the moment, there was nothing and nobody else but each other.

But the moment, just like many that had transpired between them, wasn't meant to last.

The stillness of their little corner of the universe was broken by Fracture.

"Drift, run away with me." he murmured into the crook of Drift's neck.

"What?" Drift croaked.

"You heard me. Let's become neutrals, you and me." The mech tapped the purple logo seared onto his chest armour. "Let's remove these stupid insignias and never turn back. Bounty hunters, that's what we'll be. Forget the Autobots. Forget the Decepticons. Forget Cybertron. It'll just be you and me and whatever bounties this crazy universe has to offer us."

"Tempting. But no." The response was dry, curt, direct to the point. Just about perfect for Drift.

Fracture remained unfazed by the brusque answer. "You sure about that?"

Drift, for his part, maintained his aloof demeanour. "Fracture, this is the seventh or eighth time you've asked me that very same question. My answer will never change."

"Even if it means you and I'll be fighting on opposing sides?"

"Even then."

Fracture, without warning, recoiled from Drift and sat upright to stare down at his lover. "I'm giving you a choice here, Drift. A war with no end in sight." he solemnly intoned with a grand sweep of his servo. "Or a lifetime with yours truly. Hot interface _anywhere_ and _everywhere_." Gently, very slowly, he dragged a claw across the side of Drift's spike.

The gesture elicited nothing more than a scowl. Drift took hold of Fracture's servo and pushed it away. "No."

Fracture sighed once again. Not in contentment nor frustration. His sigh, airy and soft, is an odd mix of disappointment and endearment.

" _So_ stubborn. _So_ self-righteous. And you're telling me you're _still_ unbonded?"

"I've no interest in such a banal matter."

"Ooh, is it because I'm not one of you?" Fracture beamed, slightly cocking his chin upwards to meet Drift's withering gaze.

"Oh please."

"So you don't want to be with me and you want to be with me. Can we add 'Confused' to your description?"

"That's not what I meant."

"'Humorless', we'll add that as well. I'm joking Drift, I know that you take a certain thrill from us playing for different teams." Fracture acquiesced without the usual gruff irritation that marked his response to rejection.

"Even so, in the end you walk a lonely road, sweetspark. But me?" Fracture took hold of the servo on his waist and moved it to his abdomen. His spark pulsed excitedly when he finally saw Drift express an emotion other than dispassionate stoicism. The look of genuine shock on the samurai's face filled him with pride.

Fracture could scarcely contain his bemused cackling.

"I'm not gonna be by my lonesome for long. 'Airazor' or 'Divebomb', which do you prefer? I'm giving you a choice here, Drift."


	2. Don't You Remember?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this section/chapter, Drift ruminates while Fracture glows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for sweetness, an absolute softie at heart. Neither Drift nor Fracture are immune from the effects of me capitulating to that side of me, it seems.

Seeing Fracture break out into a smile devoid of any malice and ill intent is a rarity.

Seeing Fracture break out into a smile that's absolutely spark-breaking in its sincerity is an anomaly that could, very well and unquestionably, tear apart the fabric of space and time.

Or so Drift thinks as he observed the Decepticon. Or, more appropriately, ex-Decepticon. Or, much more accurately, ex-Decepticon concurrently bonded to a proud Autobot, dutifully watching over their sleeping pupils and carrying the aforementioned Autobot's sparklings.

_Has it truly been that long since we left Earth?_

His time on that planet was but a collection of hazy memories stagnating in the farthest depths of his processor, with only a few choice visions still clear as crystal. 

He remembered Denny Clay and Russell, the time spent in their company far too unforgettable for his own good.

He remembered Fracture's seemingly impossible escape from his own stasis pod. He remembered the lengthy chase, the protracted game of petro cat and mouse. 

He remembered Terrorsaur, secret of the Alchemor, the missing Predacon and last free Decepticon on Earth.

He remembered the bizarre circumstances that led to Fracture and Drift inexplicably saving each other from an early demise at Terrorsaur's claws.

He remembered the other's confusion, fury and despair at being beholden to his long-time rival; as even Fracture had some semblance of honor left in his cold spark.

He remembered the council's outrage at his, in their words, “incontrovertibly preposterous, terribly irresponsible and fragged-up-around-the-bend daft” request of placing Fracture under probation. 

He remembered doing his best to imbibe the Bee Team with confidence in his ability to keep Fracture under control. 

He remembered how only Bumblebee and Grimlock believed in his words. 

He remembered Jetstorm and Slipstream privately questioning him about the true nature of his and Fracture's relationship after all was said and done, their reactions too amusing to consign to oblivion.

_How things have changed since then._

In the time leading up to this moment, Drift had assuaged the fears of his former teammates, proven the council wrong on all accounts, and integrated his and Fracture's Minicons into a cohesive familial unit.

In spite of everything that had transpired between them, they had somehow made things _work_.

In the end, it had been worth it.

"You still all there, handsome?"

Drift only had a moment to collect himself and put on his veneer of cool indifference. "Always. I am merely contemplating a grand number of things, most of which involve our litter-to-be."

"My, my, aren't you the good sire?" Fracture chuckled, again flashing that unguarded smile.

Drift felt his spark throb. “I do try.”

“A fucking fine job thus far.”

“Watch your language, Fracture.”

“Allay those fears, sweetspark.” The purple mech cooed and lovingly palmed his swollen belly. “They can't hear us at this stage.”

“Regardless, I do not want them to grow up with vocabularies as colorful as those possessed by Divebomb and Airazor.” Drift briefly glanced downwards, casting a wary gaze at the purple minicons recharging on the floor. They huddled closely with their black and red brethren, limbs piled on top of each other in an amusing and spark-warming display. Watching movies, their souvenirs from Earth, always took a lot out of them and caused them to fall into deep recharge wherever they may be.

Not that either Drift or Fracture minded.

The quiet was appreciated. 

“It would be a miracle if they did. The last thing this universe needs is more carbon copies of you.”

“How wonderful that your carrier protocols have done nothing to dull the sharpness of your glossa.”

“You know you love it.” Fracture said with an enticing wink.

_Again with that smile. Primus save me._

“Love. It.”

“You are correct in that regard, Fracture.” Drift began as he moved closer to his bondmate. “I love your ability to dispense a pithy remark at the drop of a hat. I love your implacability and how it can see you through even the most trying of times. I love your proclivity for ingenuity and perfection. I love how your gravidity has only heightened your allure, elevated it to its zenith. But above all, in spite of or because of everything that has happened in our intertwined lifetimes,I love you, Fracture.” Drift finished his veneration by stealing a kiss.

“What have you to say to _that_?” he asked as he withdrew.

“What _can_ I say?” Fracture said breathlessly, still reeling from the sudden but very welcome burst of passion from the other. His expression morphed from awe to yearning in the span of a nanoclick. “A fucking fine job, if I do say so myself.”

“Barely.”

Fracture's optics brightened at the sensation of digits rapping against his interface panels. “Oh, Drift! Here and now?”

"Nothing short of another war could rouse our minicons from their slumber." Drift whispered huskily, confidently. "Believe you me."

Through their bond, Fracture sensed desire: strong, domineering and focused entirely on him. "Primus, when did you get so nasty?" he asked, revelling in the other's wanting.

"Don't you remember?"

Cooling fans whirred to life. "No. But please, don't hesitate to remind me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second piece of Drift/Fracture fluff I've written straight in a row. I may have to change that in the next fic outing.


	3. Go To Your Autobot

The question came from nowhere. There was nothing leading up to it. No point in their conversation that related to it. 

All of Steeljaw's queries thus far revolved entirely around Fracture's experiences in his trade: the underhanded strategies he employed, the sacrifices he made and the victories he clinched.

Steeljaw always took great joy in ending their late-night high grade drinking sessions on a high note. The relaying of anecdotes savory and otherwise seemed to do the trick, and Fracture had a grand multiple of them to share at a moment's notice. Airazor and Divebomb adoringly gushing at their master's tales while they kept the flow of high grade steady only added to the ambience. This usually occurred when the rest of the Pack were already deep in recharge, giving them ample time to let Fracture regale Steeljaw with his stories. Wouldn't want the likes of Clampdown, a feckless snitch, or Thunderhoof, an irascible bully, to see them completely smashed out of their minds, after all.

By the time Earth moon's was at its zenith in the night sky both Steeljaw and Fracture were sufficiently buzzed. Fracture's stories were only getting wilder and Steeljaw's questions stupider by the nanoclick.

Once Fracture was done revealing Lockdown's (yet another infamous Decepticon bounty hunter and Fracture's mentor) most humiliating secret (one involving certain intimate parts and a broken toy) Steeljaw said it.

"It's getting late, Fracture, shouldn't you be fragging that orange Autobot by now?"

The evenness of the wolf-con's vocalizer as he bluntly, straightforwardly popped the question was what truly made the moment. Fracture nearly choking on his energon just added to it. His minicons, ever loyal, ceased their skittering and rushed to their master's side, letting their carafes drop to the ground. They held him as he doubled over in pain, coughing and wheezing.

Steeljaw took a sip of high grade. Calmly, wordlessly, he waited for Fracture to regain his bearings.

"Damn, you're...even more slagfaced than...than I thought, Steeljaw." Fracture rasped between harsh bursts of static.

Steeljaw regarded him with amusement. "Fracture, do I _sound_ slagfaced? Slightly buzzed? Yes. Ignorant of your clandestine affairs? Not in the slightest."

"With all due respect, Steeljaw..." Divebomb started.

"...the Master would never do such a thing!" Airazor finished, beaming up at the larger mech.

"Your loyalty is noted but _unappreciated_ in these circumstances." Steeljaw growled sternly. " _Deeply_ unappreciated."

To their credit neither Airazor nor Divebomb flinched under Steeljaw's withering gaze. Their devotion to their master was absolute.

Simultaneously, the minicons opened their intakes to get in another word. Fracture cut them off before they had a chance to speak. "Ease off, Steeljaw." he growled. Fracture looked down at them both and sent an order through their personal communication line. Airazor and Divebomb froze. They exchanged worried glances. First with each other, then with their Master. The tension eased from their frames only after Fracture gave them his signature lopsided, self-assured smirk.

_It was going to be alright._

They each gave him a curt nod before taking their leave. Light pedefalls, a metallic pitter-patter, followed and disappeared with them.

Fracture continued when he was certain his minicons were as far as possible. "Leave them out of this. They've got nothing to do with...whatever _this_ is."

The wolf-con threw back his helm and laughed. "Please don't insult my intelligence like that, Fracture. It's unbecoming of you and denigrating towards me. I say 'unbecoming' because 'ineffectual liar', you are anything but. Do you really think I haven't yet pieced together your little scheme?"

He threw Fracture a smug, knowing look as he lightly tapped his own lupine snout. "I can smell it on you. I've always been able to smell it you. The scent of a fresh frag is unmistakeable, even after you've tried to 'force me into a drunken stupor'." At the last few words, Steeljaw's optics flashed dangerously, fanged dentae bared. "I've had stronger stuff back at Shockwave's laboratory. Your minicons' high grade is watered-down petrorabbit piss at best."

"Duly noted." Fracture said flatly.

"And as you've mentioned so _eagerly_ in past conversations, the one called 'Drift' is the Autobot whom you've the most enmity with. If I'm not mistaken, your rivalry was already well under way long before the war. Said war's end did nothing to quell your rivalry. Not the rivalry nor..." Steeljaw inhaled. "...the forbidden passion."

Pausing briefly, Steeljaw scrutinized Fracture's faceplate, searching for a reaction or a sign of emotion. Optics misting over in fear. Dentae rattling anxiously. Condensation gathering upon heated protoflesh. 

The purple mech's expression was stony and revealed nothing.

Steeljaw grinned inwardly.

Time to make the consummate professional look his cool.

"I've seen the way your faceplate falters whenever you talk about him. It's not just bad blood brewing between you, is it? No, it's more complex than that. It's something that only near-nightly trysts on this backwater planet can define over the course of time. You and him, him and you have something else entirely."

Steeljaw took one long swig from his cube. Soon the last drop of high grade slid down his throat. "And in truth..." he wiped away any trace of energon from his lip plates. "...I don't mind it in the slightest." he said afterwards with a content sigh.

Fracture's stoic facade cracked ever so slightly. "Come again?"

Steeljaw broke into laughter again, tail swinging back and forth wildly. "Don't be surprised, Fracture. You've proven yourself an invaluable member of the team, the most invaluable, to be perfectly honest. You've maintained your relationship with the Autobot without compromising your work. Would it be presumptuous or arrogant of me to believe that that won't change in the slightest?" Steeljaw let out a hearty chuckle as he set his empty cube down on the ground. An odd, bemused smile crossed his features.

"Besides, if you've got an itch, you scratch. You can't reach it, you find someone else to do it for you. Know what I'm saying?"

It was Fracture's turn to laugh. "Primus be damned, you _are_ drunk as slag." he sniggered, wiping away fluid from the corners of his optics.

Steeljaw shrugged, fluidly rolling his shoulders. "Perhaps. Or maybe I'm more lucid than ever. I can't even tell anymore. So go. Go on. Go to your Autobot." he said with flourish. "You should be fragging him by now, yes?"

Fracture hesitated. "And what about you?" he narrowed his optics in suspicion.

"I've kept Thunderhoof waiting long enough."

Without wasting another moment, Steeljaw picked himself up and began the walk towards his lover's quarters. He heard, rather than saw, Fracture's own departure.

Their night had been an interesting one. Or so Steeljaw assumed. The effects of the high grade lingered in his processor. His recollection of what had just transpired was murky. Regardless, it seemed amusing enough to the parts of him that were still clearheaded. If Thunderhoof allowed him, Steeljaw would gladly tell the elk-con all about it. Though even now, even as he crossed past Clampdown's room, he highly doubted Thunderhoof was in a listening mood.

_It's been hours, hasn't it?_

Steeljaw produced a small remote from his subspace. The node on its surface was placed at "On", and had been that way for a long time.

_Is he even still conscious?_

There was only one way to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real rhyme nor reason to this. I just wanted to write a Drift/Fracture fic that had some Steeljaw/Thunderhoof thrown in, no matter how little it may be. Perhaps, if the powers that be allow me, I may just throw together a scene that combines those pairings. Tastefully or otherwise.


	4. A Song and Dance of Swords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How _Lockout_ should have gone down.

Once again, it happened. 

Though the battlefield was different this time around, it was still the same old song and dance of swords.

Cold steel clashed against cold steel. Wits and wiles pitted against each other. The indomitable spirits of two warriors refused to give up and give in.

Each side had their equal number of wins and losses, an inevitability that Drift and Fracture had accepted long ago. The balance presented a veneer of stability, a semblance of constancy they had since embraced. Innumerable encounters taught them that it was better to just agree with it rather than fight it. Primus, or whatever primordial cosmological force governed the universe, seemed mostly ambivalent towards them. Fortunately and unfortunately.

Today, in a simple junkyard on the planet Earth, after the Steeljaw's Pack breached the Autobot base, the scales seemed to tip in either's favor.

Their blades met once more. Equally matched, a brief struggle ensued.

Fracture's lip plates pulled back into an all-too-familiar sneer. "You could never beat me alone, Drift!" he said, confident and self assured.

Drift's optics flickered between their weapons and Fracture's face. He looked for a crack in the Decepticon's defenses but found none. There were no traces of doubt nor any sense of fear coming from Fracture.

In his processor, they had already won and the Autobots of Earth had lost. This round was theirs and Fracture wasn't going to let Drift forget it. That is, if Drift was going to come out of this alive.

The smile widened. The message clear.

_You lost._

Whether it was the braggadocio or the slag-eating smirk that provoked him, Drift would never know. There was just _something_ about Fracture, _something_ about him at that moment, that compelled Drift to do the unthinkable. 

The unimaginable. 

The unforgettable.

Fracture's pedes dug into the soft earth and caused his stance to falter, his defense to weaken. Drift saw his chance and took it.

It all happened within the span of an optic blink. Drift tactfully shifted his posture. Fracture lost his bearings. The Decepticon slipped and began to fall. The Autobot intercepted it. An outraged shriek was cut short by another's lip plates. 

Deep red optics grew wide in shock. Light blue optics shuttered in bliss. Half-sparked resistance crumbled swiftly and gave way to wanton reciprocation. Thickset servos wandered over the smaller frame. Clawed digits grazed heavy armor. Their EM fields crackled and danced.

Once again, old feelings resurfaced to quell the enmity that brewed dangerously between the two bounty hunters. What could have been love, or something very close to it, was reignited.

Time stood perfectly still for them both, the ongoing battles surrounding them were almost forgotten.

Almost.

From what Drift could surmise, and Fracture could see past the other's pauldrons, it was Strongarm who reacted first. “Sweet Solus Prime!”

Drift attempted to break the kiss but Fracture refused to let him go. Some bot let out an ungodly shriek when Fracture shamelessly grabbed Drift's aft. Chaos erupted amongst the Autobots, with even Strongarm reduced to screeching hysterics. Mercifully, the Decepticons were knocked out cold on the ground.

Even so.

“I knew it! I knew it!” Sideswipe howled as he waved about an accusatory digit.

“This can't be legal! How many laws does this break?!”

“Everything, including the law of gravity!”

Amidst the flurry of horrified wailing it was Grimlock who served as the pillar of sanity, or the closest thing to it. He seemed more confused than anything else, simply staring at the scene before him in open-mouthed wonder. Strongarm and Sideswipe, on the other hand, were both wracked with grief.

“'Meditating by the lakeside' my aft! You're a liar and an enemy fraternizer! An enemy-fraternizing liar! A lying enemy fraternizer!”

“How is this going to look on my record?” Strongarm keened, disconsolate. “At least Grimlock's on probation! But Fractur—”

“At least Grimlock and Bumblebee get a room! You two...you two are just fragging in the open!”

It was up to Drift to salvage the situation as best as he could.

“Go! To Bumblebee!” the samurai cried out as he recoiled from the kiss. “I will keep Fracture bus—!” Fracture tutted and pulled him back for more.

Strongarm gasped, snapping back to her senses, her woes completely forgotten. “The lieutenant!”

Without hesitating for another second, the blue Autobot raced towards the command center with Grimlock and Sideswipe in tow. Sideswipe, unfortunately, managed to get in one more disparaging glare before rushing to Bumblebee's aid.

Finally, _finally_ , Fracture withdrew. But only so he could nibble at Drift's chin. “No audience? Such a shame.” he purred. “Here I was hoping for an encore of Skaro. But I guess,” he gave his fallen comrades fleeting looks. “they'll do.”

“Fracture...” 

“Do you remember, Drift? Those nosy little rustbuckets on wheels couldn't tear their optics away!”

“Fracture...”

“A show they'll never forget, that's what we gave them. You think your chassis can handle another go at 'The Beast With A Billion Backs'?”

“Fracture, stop.” Drift intoned as he gently pushed Fracture away. “It is over. You have lost.”

“So?” the purple mech laughed and reached out for Drift's cheek. “This round, yes. But the next one—”

_Click_

“There will not be a next round.”

 

“This entire experience has been terrifying...but also a blast and a half!”

Bumblebee smiled at Denny. “I'm just glad you, Russell and Fixit didn't get hurt.”

“And that none of the captive Decepticons got three—brie—agree—“ _THWACK_ “—Free!” Fixit cheerily piped up.

The Autobots nodded in agreement while Denny and Russell high-fived triumphantly. As chaotic as their day had begun, they were pleased to end it on a high note.

Yet despite their victory, Strongarm wasn't happy. “But Steeljaw and his pack did.” she growled, remembering the Decepticons' hasty escape.

“Not all of them.” came Drift's voice.

All optics and eyes fell on Drift, just now rejoining the group. Cuffed and scowling, Fracture trudged alongside him.

“You revved up my engines for nothing.” the Decepticon moaned. “You. Are. A. Horrible. Lover.”

Drift winced at the chorus of shocked gasps. From the sound of it, Jetstorm and Slipstream had the strongest, most adverse reaction.

“Master Drift...?”

This was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued. Maybe.


	5. He Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I tried my hand at anything remotely angst-y. My past few works have all been rather lighthearted, and this is the fic to change just that.

Regrets, Fracture has many. 

This is not one of them.

He regrets letting a profitable bounty go when he experienced an unfortunate, an unimaginable, a since-then-quashed pang of guilt needling his spark. He regrets turning down his mentor's offer in journeying with him into a brand new universe vastly different from their own. He regrets his failed relationship with _him_ , a neutral, a former lover with whom he has severed all ties; but still, he sometimes feels and remembers through their tainted bond. 

This, he does not regret.

This, he accepts.

“Fracture.”

The voice calls for him; a statement, not a question.

Fracture onlines his remaining optic. Even though it is blurry and obscured by a never-ending trickle of energon, he knows what he is looking at, knows what surrounds and awaits him. Around him, around them, he sees the lifeless, decaying husks of other soldiers. Other unfortunate, foolish sparks who believed in and willingly fought for opposing causes. 

Soon, Fracture was going to be one of them. Him and Drift.

The war was over. It had been over for the longest time. But his coding, his function, his _loyalty_ to his insignia forbade him from moving beyond it. He was a bounty hunter, not a traitor. And now he paid the price.

“Fracture.”

A gleam of orange catches his attention.

“Drift.”

The gleam shifts. The sound of broken, dented metal grows harsher. A sickening clang tells his broken processor that a limb has fallen off. He doesn't know what or whose.

“Fracture.”

“What?”

“Fracture. I am sorry.”

He laughs. Through the energon building up and bubbling in his throat, he laughs. Through the pain numbing his energon lines and the delirium swimming in his processor, he laughs.

“ _Now_ , you're apologizing? _Now_?”

“I never meant for it to end this way.”

“Lies. You knew things were going to end like this, one way or another.”

Silence. Above, the ceaseless winds of the planet howls, whips around crushed, bleeding frames.

“I only wanted to stop you. I never wanted this.”

“You reap what you sow, Drift. Deal with it.”

At the very least, their final encounter was a glorious one. Fracture lets out a sigh in remembrance. It comes out uneven and jagged, not wistful in the slightest. It will have to do.

“Fracture.”

“Drift, you're making me regret not crushing your voicebox.”

“Fracture, who do think you will see when you join the Allspark?”

“Who says I'm joining the Allspark?”

Fracture hears a peal of heavy thuds echoing in the distance. He is too tired to wonder about it or care.

“I know who I am, and I know what I've done, Drift. I'm not deluded. I'm not in denial of where I'm going when I...”

A servo closes over his own.

“Fracture. I am sorry.”

“Don't be.”

This, he does not regret. This, neither of them regrets.

Drift begins to speak again, just as Fracture's audials finally give in. It deteriorates into gibberish, and then into a whisper, and then silence. But Fracture knows what has been said.

This, he regrets.


	6. A Spoonful of Sugar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some pointless fluffery typed out for my own amusement. Drift and Fracture are not the sort to engage in such disgustingly cloying behavior, which makes this fic all the more delightful. For me, at least.

They'd taken down many a battle-hardened fugitive twice their size. They'd survived countless planetary environments unimaginable and unbearable. They'd since made names for themselves in the bounty hunting circuit. Yet nothing Slipstream and Jetstorm had encountered or accomplished thus far could have prepared them for this.

“Good morning, fancy fenders”

The Minicons watched in open-mouthed horror as Fracture practically glided over to Drift to kiss him. Right on the lip plates.

Drift.

And Fracture.

Being sweet to one another.

Exchanging kisses and not blows. Trading pet names and not barbs. Showing affection and not animosity.

“Good morning to you too, butter bearings.”

Another kiss.

Between Drift and Fracture.

Their master and his rival. Their father figure and his newly bonded lovemate. Their adoptive sire and their carrier-through-sparkbond.

Across Slipstream and Jetstorm, on the other side of the table, Divebomb and Airazor appeared just as disturbed. Of course. How could they forget? Now that Drift and Fracture had sealed their—grossly complicated—relationship via sparkbond, the bounty hunters and their Minicons now all lived under the same roof. Not as a team but as a family. Or a very convincing facsimile of it.

“Have we anything special this morning, sweet seat?” Drift asked as he assumed his place between Divebomb and Jetstorm.

“Now why would you be asking that, sugar spark?” Fracture responded in a sing-song tone. He set down the morning's energon rations, smiling all the way.

“Because.”

“Because?” Fracture cooed, _fluttering_ his optics.

The Minicons all exchanged disgusted looks. Drift and Fracture barely noticed.

“Because you know why, bumper buns.” Drift said as Fracture approached him.

A collective shriek erupted from the Minicons when Drift grabbed Fracture by the waist and pulled the other mech towards. The shriek grew louder, more distressed when Drift began to slather kiss upon kiss on Fracture's abdomen. All the former Decepticon could do while in the other's clutches was cackle gleefully. He and Drift both looked positively euphoric, regardless of how their Minicons were reacting to their display of affection.

“Because. You. Will. Be. Feeding. For. Two. Now.” Drift said between kisses.

* * *

Jetstorm woke up screaming.

His roaring engines calmed down once he realized where he was. The quarters he shared with Slipstream. In the home he lived in with their Master. Back on Cybertron. Not a single Decepticon in sight. Taking slow, even breathes, Jetstorm clutched at his spark chamber to still the erratic pulses.

A bad nocturnal flux. Nothing more.

The sunlight peering in through the windows told him it was already morning. Slipstream's berth was already empty, meaning the red Minicon had already gone down for breakfast.

 _I wonder what Master Drift has planned for us today_?

He slid off his berth and padded towards the door. It opened automatically as he neared.

Awaiting him on the side was Fracture. An irate-looking, conspicuously _gravid_ Fracture wearing what could only be a carrier's girdle.

“About time you got up.”

Jetstorm recoiled in shock. Fracture took his servo and began dragging him towards Primus-knows-where.

The memories came flooding back.

The Decepticons' escape. The rampaging Predacon. The arrangement between Drift and the council. The countless arguments and clashes and conciliatory actions. The trysts on foreign planets, away from prying optics. The harsh outcry upon the unfortunate discovery. The spark bonding ceremony that followed in spite of all the objections, of all the indignation. 

Fast forward to here and now. To Jetstorm allowing Fracture to lead him along. To the young Minicon listening to his carrier-through-sparkbond bemoan his tardiness.

“You're a breem late for your morning rations.” The — _former_ , Jetstorm remembered—Decepticon grumbled. “Didn't your master instill a sense of punctuality into that little processor of yours?”

“Fracture?”

A sigh. “Speak of the devil.”

“Fracture, I thought I told you not to move around so much.” Drift said as he joined Fracture by his side.

“Drift, please. I'm carrying, not dying.” Fracture snorted and rolled his optics. He released his hold on Jetstorm to place both servos on his hips in defiance.

“Exactly. If anything were to happen to you and the sparklings I'd—”

Fracture cut Drift off by placing a digit to his lip plates. “I'm flattered by your concern, Drift. But give me some credit here, alright? I had Divebomb and Airazor in sparkling slings back when I was still collecting names for Megatron. Compared to that slag, these little bolt biters are gonna have it easy.”

“All four of them.” Drift said with a hint of pride in his voice.

“All four of them.” Fracture echoed. He winced suddenly and doubled over in pain. Drift was fortunate enough to catch Fracture before he hit the floor. Steadying the other on his pedes, Drift shifted Fracture's weight to allow the other mech to lean against his frame. “By Iacon's Spires. And I thought carrying twins was bad.” Fracture mumbled jokingly.

“Apparently, I am much more potent than—”

“ _Ah, ah_.” Fracture waggled a digit in warning. “We do not mention _his_ name in this house, remember?”

Drift bit down on his lower lip plate. “Apologies.” he murmured, nuzzling into the crook of Fracture's neck.

The action earned a contented purr from Fracture. He tilted his helm backwards to allow Drift more access, a gesture Drift acknowledged by eagerly nibbling at Fracture's neck cables.

Jetstorm, meanwhile, looked on with wide optics. Unsure of what to do or what to say, he remained frozen in the spot, watching Drift and Fracture express their affection the best way they knew how. Even if it was to be done in the middle of a hallway.

“Mmm, Jetfir—Jetstorm? You go on ahead. Drift has some—” Fracture moaned as Drift's heavy digits caressed his swollen belly. “—some apologizing to do.”

Jetstorm obeyed the order without hesitation. He ran as fast as his pedes could carry him, away from the older mechs and towards their home's dining area.

He did not need to witness this at such an ungodly hour.

At least they weren't calling each other pet names.

Yet.


	7. Naxos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A comment by **WickedHumor** and a particularly, dreadfully boring day is what brought this fic into fruition. Just a _caveat emptor_ , Drift does not make an appearance at all here. He does get a quick mention, but that's it. Consider it foreshadowing for his inevitable big appearance in this fic's hopefully-coming-soon sequel.

**I.**

A barren horizon yawned before them. Recalibrating his optics, Fracture scanned the landscape once more. Nothing had changed. This part of the planet was still a vast expanse of craggy terrain, completely devoid of life and any means of sustaining it. Not even mechanical beings could survive in this Primus-forsaken hell hole. Rust-colored dust clouds swirled around his pedes as he walked over to his companion—an older, larger mech currently seated on a boulder while staring at the setting twin suns.

“He isn't here.”

“Obviously.” Came the terse reply.

Fracture pursed his lip plates together in annoyance. “Well _excuse_ me, _Lieutenant_.” He spat out the last word venomously. “Maybe you should've dragged some other bot into this stupid wild-petro-goose chase. Oh, wait. You can't. Because _I'm_ the only one good enough to avoid prison!”

The other mech turned to Fracture and regarded him with a guilty expression. Though his faceplate was marred by a patchwork of old scars it was still able to convey emotion, still able to show remorse through gnarled and ruined protoform. A disturbing sight to most, Fracture found the display a moving one. The other mech was, after all, not the expressive sort under most circumstances.

“Forget it. It's been a long cycle. We're both tired. And Lord Megatron...” Fracture heaved a sigh and shook his helm.

“He is out there, Frac.” The older mech croaked. “I can feel it in my spark.”

Fracture gave his superior officer an exhausted smile. No, scratch that. Not superior officer; _partner_. The collapse of the once-grand Decepticon Empire had since rendered all rankings moot. Under Autobot reign they were no longer Lieutenant and Second Lieutenant. Now they were just wanted outlaws, _partners_ on the run, _partners_ scouring the galaxy for their lord and master.

It was a hard life heading towards an uncertain future. But Fracture threw himself into it without a second thought. For the mech he now called _partner_ , he was willing to go through anything and everything the universe had to throw at them.

“ 'Course he is.” Fracture said after a moment.

“And we are going to find him.”

“ 'Course we will, sir.”

“I have a name you know.” It was said with a crooked smirk.

“Force of habit.” Fracture admitted, sounding uncharacteristically embarrassed.

They said nothing more after that. Around them, the rocks and the sand dunes went from warm to cool hues. Above, an infinite number of stars dotted the cloudless sky. Fracture watched the other mech stand up to his full, imposing height. Bathed under moonlight, his distinct helm and unique faceplate took on an otherworldly veneer. The look he gave Fracture caused the younger mech's spark to jump within its chamber.

He hadn't been a sparkling for millions of years, maybe even longer. Yet being in the other mech's company made him feel so young and so new. Like Fracture didn't have to fight to survive or didn't have to become a soldier because fighting was all he was good at; the best at, even. The other mech, the Former Lieutenant, made him feel like he was something more.

Not even Dri—not even a _certain Autobot_ managed that.

Not even him.

Their walk back to the ship was silent. The interfacing that followed was anything but.

**Interlude**

_”A few screws loose. That's the best way to describe him.” Oil Slick whispered to his teammates._

_Everyone but Fracture nodded in agreement._

_“Pally's absolutely mental.” Joyride piped up._

_“Totally. I mean, there's being _loyal_ to Lord Megatron, and then there's... _that_.” Scorponok mumbled and made a face._

_“Whatever you want to call it, he _is_ it!” Barricade snickered._

_Everyone broke into laughter—everyone but Fracture._

**II.**

This planet was better than the last by a longshot: a lush, green world covered in a rich variety of flora. Even if there were so signs of Lord Megatron ever inhabiting or passing by this planet, it offered a nice change of pace for the two Decepticons. They would not have to contend with howling desert winds or never-ending snowstorms or perilous, murky swamps. Tonight they would be sitting upon blankets of soft grass and imbibing good energon.

“Imagine it, Frac. Lord Megatron leading us once more.” His partner said dreamily. “Our lost glory returned to us. Those soft-sparked Autobots cowering at our heels. Cybertron the base of the Decepticon Empire. Can you picture it, Frac?”

“Yes.” A half-truth. Fracture still had his reservations. But he was as good a liar as he was a fighter.

“Good. Had you given me the answer of a defeatist then I would have to cut you where you stand.”

That was not an empty threat. Fracture had personally witnessed him spill as much Decepticon energon as he did Autobot. Seeing him perform his duties as one of Lord Megatron's most loyal, most brutal soldiers was both a terrifying and exhilarating sight to behold.

“Defeatists have no place in Lord Megatron's army. Defeatists and weaklings. That is why we will slay all Autobots who cannot hold their own in battle.”

“ 'All' of them?”

“The sick. The elderly. The sparklings.” The other mech's optics grew dangerously bright. “At least those who possess weak embers. The sparklings who show promise will be allowed to live until they have proven themselves worthy to serve Lord Megatron.”

“What about the new sparks?” Fracture asked hesitantly.

“The same principle will apply to them. None are above Lord Megatron's law. Not even you or I.” He said with a sense of finality. “Especially you or I.”

Fracture felt his spark race. Was it because of fear? Or was it because of another more primal emotion? Fracture reasoned—no, _knew_ it was the latter. Such passion and forthrightness was a rare thing to come by these days. Yet this mech before him had both and was very proud of both. Ergo, he saw it fit to surrender to the feeling that made his spark rush.

To Fracture's delight, his partner came to the same conclusion.

Blackened digits reach for Fracture's armor. Tenderly, affectionately,they brushed against purple metal.It was once a light red; the digits remembered and the touches became more nostalgic.

Fracture's used to be light red. His dentae smooth and free of battle damage. His helm had not yet had that distinctive crest. The digits remembered it all. There was not a part of Fracture they hadn't caressed, hadn't explored or delved or dipped into.

They lingered in remembrance of old dances across Fracture's armor. Across his protoform, chassis and spark chamber. Tonight they would dance again.

**III.**

The pain wouldn't go away; or to be more accurate, pains. More often than not, Fracture felt as though his spark would burst; and if not that, then he felt like his tanks would escape through his intake. Certain odors would cause his processors to haze over, and he soon found himself passing an alarming amount of waste material. The constant exhaustion and inexplicable mood swings only compounded his agony.

While his partner was on a reconnaissance mission, Fracture browsed through their ship's database. He clicked through Cybertronian biology then through anatomical tomes. One section in particular caught his attention and he looked through it. He found the answer he was looking for but he didn't, couldn't and refused to believe what it was telling him.

**IV.**

“A sparkling?”

Fracture nodded weakly. “A sparkling.” He forced a smile on his faceplate, hoping for a similar reaction from the other mech.

“I see.” It was cold, unfeeling. Just like optics that eyed Fracture's distended belly.

**Interlude**

_“Fracture, you're insane! You and him both!”_

_Oil Slick's words fell on deaf audials. Fracture continued to assemble his smuggled energon battle pistol while his teammates watched in shock and despair._

_“Fracture, listen to me.” Oil Slick pleaded. “If we surrender willingly, then the Autobots will lighten our sentences. Imprisonment for a thousand vorns isn't all that bad compared to—”_

_“Givin' it all up for Lieutenant Crazy Horns!” Joyride interrupted, waving his arms wildly. “Don't be daft, widget! Bein' a daft knobhead's his job!”_

_Fracture remained silent. It was Barricade's turn to scream at him._

_“Use your slaggin' processor, Fracture! Did you ever stop and think about why that glitch-head got dumped at the farthest corner of the universe? Because he's crazy! Off his bumper! Two cogs short of a gearwheel!”_

_Fracture added the final touches to his weapon. Very briefly, he admired his handiwork. None too shabby, so Fracture thought. He didn't bother to answer nor acknowledge his teammates. Not even as he pointed the pistol at the cell door lock._

**V.**

He nearly broke the datapad in half.

The cracked screen flickered on and off. His servo, covered in tiny shards of glass, shook with barely restrained fury. The strings of broken text were still clear even through the shattered glass and energon droplets.

_Frac...._

_By the ti.. you read th...... drug...ill have wo.....f and I wi....e gone._

_I a.....rry that ...ave ….. this to you...owerful and us......ou are a.....ighter, a.....arrier you w.....e a burden. I can... waste ... time lookin...fter you w........ave not yet f....d Lord Me....on._

_Beli... yo...e, it wa........ easy decis... to ma.....ou wil.....ays be my f......e pupil. Lo....egatron, h...ver, is my master an.......ey to the Dec......n E..ire. The needs of t....any far out...gh the need.... one. Surely you of al...echs w...d underst.......at._

_If yo..... our sp...ling, by some smal........ survive, then I w....ook forward t......ng you a...n. Whe..er in a.... or despair, I w.....elcome y....ith open arms._

_Cycl...._

The datapad splintered into many fragments when it hit the ground. Its impact echoed through the land, across the surface of the dead moon. Fracture was the only one who heard it.

He screamed one name. Still, he was the only one who heard it.

Sinking to his knees, Fracture cried for the first and the last time.


	8. Bump in the Night

Jetstorm woke up hungry; the sound of his own churning, empty tanks forced him out recharge. It seemed that last night's helping of energon wasn't enough to satiate his hunger. An entire cube downed and gone to no effect.

Rising from the berth, he performed a quick scan of the pitch-black room. His sensors informed him that everyone else was still deep in recharge, from Slipstream to Airazor to Divebomb. Airazor even snored, while Slipstream passionately rambled on about ball bearings. Nothing short of another Great War would rouse them from sleep.

Even so. Jetstorm quietly and cautiously tiptoed towards the door of their quarters. With a low hiss, the door slid open and Jetstorm crossed the thresshold.

He walked out into a dark and silent hallway. By all appearances, there was no one else in the apartment. Drift and Fracture had yet to return from their dinner with Chop Shop and Fixit.

Jetstorm wondered what could be taking them so long. _Perhaps their discussion about Decepticon-Autobot relations has taken a more serious turn? Or perhaps they decided to take a stroll around Crystal City? I've heard good things about their—_ His train of thought was interrupted by a growl.

_Ah, but first...._

Much too hungry to bother turning the lights on, and having already committed the geography of his surroundings to spark, Jetstorm made the walk to the refrigerator in total darkness.

* * *

An energon cube gone just like that. Jetstorm wiped a few droplets from his chin and smiled, wholly satisfied.

The walk back to his and the other Minicons' room was done at a slow, leisurely place. Drift and Fracture had not yet returned, everyone else was still recharging, and he was the only one who was up and about their darkened apartment. The comforting quiet of their home and the warm sensation of energon settled nicely in his tanks made Jetstorm feel like all was right with the world.

His personal peace was shattered when, through the door, tumbled a huge, moaning, writhing mass. Jetstorm's spark froze. _An intruder!_ his cerebral processor screamed at him. All of his systems and processors remembered everything he had learned under Drift's tutelage. Jetstorm assumed a fighting stance. Self-defense was an art that had been ingrained into the most miniscule circuits of his very being. Whatever or whoever this creature was, he was ready for it and, as Grimlock was wont to say, “ready to dish out an aft whoopin'”.

“Barricade shall never bother you again.” Said a voice he was comfortably familiar with.

_Master Drift!_

Jetstorm's bravery dissipated almost immediately and was replaced with intense panic. Master Drift was back. He wasn't in his berth. It was not an ideal scenario. Jetstorm did the first and only thing that managed to wade through his terror and dread. He dove behind the couch, tried to make himself small by crouching and did his best to silent the nervous whirring of his cooling fans. Though with all the noise Drift—

“Oh, oh, my hero.”

—and Fracture were making, it was unlikely they could hear anything at all. Even so. The two older, larger mechs had better senses than most others in their profession. A scared Minicon creeping away from them was something they were bound to notice. Left with no other option, Jetstorm remained perfectly quiet and perfectly still behind the couch. Even as he heard them collapse onto the very couch he was cowering behind.

_Scrap._

“My big, handsome hero. Reward sex now, yes?” Came the ragged moan.

_Double scrap._

“Of course, of course. My darling little sweetspark. My spike will always be ready for you.”

“Really? Even with this fat belly?”

“ _Especially_ with that fat belly.” Drift's voice was heavy with lust and longing. 

Never before had Jetstorm heard his master speak like that; he didn't think that his master even _could_ speak like that.

Jetstorm heard Fracture laugh. “Oh, Drift, you and your carrying fetish. I never knew you could be so kinky!”

“There is a lot you have yet to discover about me, Fracture.”

“My spark is all a-flutter with excitement. But enough talk. Reward sex. Now.”

“Should I turn on—”

“No, you know my body almost better than I do.”

“Do you want—”

“Aft. Fill me up. Stretch me out. Tear me in half. Fuck me into the ground. Just don't go easy on me.”

“But the sparkli—”

“Ugh, fine. Maybe a little easy. _Just_ a little. They're a tough bunch, they can take it a little rough.”

“As you wish.”

_Triple scrap!_

Jetstorm bit down on his fist to keep himself from screaming. It was all he could do as he heard and _felt_ them rocking the couch. The Minicon didn't even dare imagine what Drift was doing to Fracture to make the couch move like that. Although if he had to go by Fracture's moans alone—even if he desperately didn't want to—Drift was doing quite a number on the former Decepticon.

“Oh, Drift! Oh, baby! That's it, that's the spot, keep going!”

_Oh Primus._

“I—I cannot stop my moving my hips—! Fracture, what are you doing to me—Solus Prime!”

_Oh smelt._

“Ooh, Drift, I love it when you let loose! Let loose inside me, baby!”

 _Oh scrap._

In an attempt to make his circumstances a little more bearable, Jetstorm shuttered his optics and temporarily turned off his audio receptors. At least he tried to. In his panic, Jetstorm accidentally turned up his audio receptors to their highest setting, causing every sound to be amplified tenfold. The rocking of the couch under their combined weight; the clamor of armor pounding against armor, of protoform slapping against protoform; the moans, squeaks, wails and sobs escaping from Drift and Fracture's vocalizers were all entering Jetstorm's audials in excruciating detail. 

“Drift, you're a beast!”

“It is you, Fracture. You and that your carrier status that bring out the beast in me. How about, as soon as the sparklings are born, I fill you up with a new litter? Would you like that?”

“Drift!”

“I asked you a question Fracture. Answer it.”

There came a hard slap and a shriek.

“I don't know!”

“That is not good enough.”

“I don't know and I don't car—ooh, Drift, don't put your digits ther—ooh, Drift, put your digits there!”

“All of them?” The lascivious purr sent a shiver down Jetstorm's spine.

“Yes! All of them! Ooh, Primus!”

“Tell me then, Fracture, how would you like to be carrying again the moment the sparklings are born? You, with a belly full of our new sparklings. Me, fragging your aft and valve raw and loose, pumping your ports full of cum. Picture it, sweetspark.”

“Ooh, Drift! If you keep on talking to me like that I might just—” 

Fracture's voice broke into a strangled cry as he met his climax. Drift only grunted through his. 

Unable and unwilling to endure any more of this torture, Jetstorm took his chance at making a hasty escape. As Drift and Fracture vocalized their simultaneous overloads Jetstorm leaped and rolled towards the hallway of their berth rooms. The sound of his frantic pedefalls were drowned out by the din of moans and grunts, a small miracle the Minicon was terribly thankful for. He didn't care to look back. Didn't care to check if the larger mechs had heard him. All that mattered now was the mad dash into the Minicon quarters, under his covers and back into recharge were only the sweetest and most chaste of dreams awaited him. 

Jetstorm even made it a point to completely turn off his audio receptors as he covered his entire frame in his blanket. Just in case Drift and Fracture decided to take their business into other corners of the apartment.

Luckily for him, they didn't.

* * *

“Jetstorm, you look exhausted.”

The Minicon didn't look up from his morning energon rations. Fracture scowled.

“Jetstorm?”

Still no response.

“Jetstorm.”

Same as before.

His impatience got the better of him, and Fracture gave the smaller bot's helm a hard flick with his digits. That was enough to knock Jetstorm out of his stupor and into a dazed but awake state.

“No more! Please! I—”

Jetstorm stopped himself when he noticed Fracture staring at him intently. He realized then that he forgot to return his audio receptors to their default setting. Grinning sheepishly, he proceeded to do just that.

“Sorry, Frac—Carrie—Carrier Fracture.” Jetstorm murmured with a small yawn. “I turned off my audio receptors last night and forgot to turn them back on this morning.”

“Now why the frag would you turn them off?”

“I heard...noises last night.” Jetstorm said in a very even tone, with a very straight face. Last night's events were still horrifyingly fresh in his cerebral processor. Yet he didn't dare let Fracture know about what he knew. “Terrifying ones. I think...I think there might be diesel rats in the apartment. Rather large ones.”

Fracture's expression went from irritation to surprise in a sparkbeat. “Seriously?”

Jetstorm nodded.

“Primus, you're such a big baby. Okay, okay, I'll go talk to Drift about this. You just finish your energon so you can go join the others in the living room, alright?”

Jetstorm nodded again.

Fracture sighed. “Diesel rats. In our corner of Central City. Unbelievable. I'm going to have a nice, long, hard talk with Drift about this.” He muttered to himself, barely noticing that Jetstorm had fallen out of his chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drift talking dirty to Fracture is a scenario I've been wanting to write for quite a while now. Jetstorm being dragged along for the ride is an addition that just felt right. No, I do not have it in for him, contrary to what I've written thus far.


	9. Mornings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some shameless fluff. What can I say, I'm a softie deep down.

Fracture woke up alone. The room was still dark, but he knew. There was no one beside him. No large arm draped protectively over his waist. No black digits entwined with his own. No lip plates pressed against the back of his helm. Nobody who, the night before, lulled him into recharge with the sweet promises only an Autobot would dare whisper.

The berth was empty. 

Drift was gone.

He wasn't surprised by this. And that in itself surprised him.

It shouldn't have though.

Their relationship was defined in very loose, if not the loosest, terms. Whether they were fighting or fucking, and it was always one or the other, it was never personal. After they first consummated their rivalry underneath a blanket of silver stars, they both agreed that it never was and never would be personal. After the adrenaline had worn off, the mood waned and their senses returned, they decided that it was never meant to be personal.

Drift was fine with it. Fracture was fine with it. The arrangement worked perfectly for them both.

Even then. It still stung. Fracture would never admit it. Didn't want to admit it. But it still stung.

Even as Fracture sat up and began to clean himself of dried transfluid, it stung. Even as Fracture reminded himself that this wasn't the first time Drift had snuck off while he was deep in recharge, it stung. Even as Fracture berated himself for allowing his emotions to affect him this way, it stung. 

He wiped away the last remnants of last night's activities in silence. Gingerly setting the cloth aside, he rose to his pedes and stretched his chassis. Joints creaked. Plates squeaked. His aft ached a little. Drift had done quite a number on him and Fracture mused that Drift was as much a Decepticon as he was. Loving, upping and leaving wasn't exactly condoned by Autobot culture.

Ah well. At least he wouldn't have the to share the energon with anyone else. Airazor and Divebomb weren't to return until they had gathered enough information on the neutral insurgent colony they were tracking. For a few more joors, he had the ship all to himself. It was a pleasant thought.

Without wasting another nanosecond, Fracture trudged towards his ship's galley.

Before he could input the code to the doors, they slid back to reveal Drift.

“Good morning, Fracture.” Drift said as Drift stood there with two cups of energon in Drift's servos.

“Drift.”

The other mech regarded him impassively. “Yes. It is me.”

Fracture scowled. He had to. Or else Drift would have noticed the beginnings of a smile. It was still a bit dark but Fracture dared not take the risk. “Where were—“

Drift took one of his servos and placed a cup of warm energon in its grip. “Will you join me on the deck? The sunrises on this planet are absolutely breathtaking. The addition of freshly heated energon only adds to the experience.”

It was Fracture's turn to look at the other blankly.

“Come.” Drift said with what was, without a shadow of a doubt, a small smile.

Nothing more needed to be said.

Drift led the way. Fracture allowed himself to be led. The arrangement worked perfectly for them both.

Fracture would never admit it. Didn't want to admit it. But Drift made his mornings a little better.


	10. Little Sparks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. Just fluff.

Drift was amazed.

No, scratch that. He was elated.

No, that wasn't it. He was terrified.

No, no, that was a horrible choice of words. He was anything but—no, no. There was definitely an iota of terror somewhere in there. Fortunately, the more positive of his emotions all but smothered that thin sliver of fear.

The joy. The awe. The relief. Swimming and rolling and combining to form many a new emotions that Drift couldn't even—

“Drift?” Fracture's exhausted voice, though weak and tinny, penetrated the maelstrom of thoughts swirling wildly in his processor.

He froze. The terror returned.

Even so.

He knew what had to be done.

Slowly, he tilted his helm upwards. He saw the softly lit makeshift carrier ward, saw Fracture lying on top of the berth with numerous medical equipment attached to his frame, saw the unreadable expression planted firmly on the slim faceplate. He met Fracture's gaze. The optics, once radiant and full of mischief, were dim and exhausted. Yet there was something more subtle, more potent that simmered just behind the red-tinted glass. It was faint, but it was there, and it gave Drift a reason to smile. Or, more specifically, to return Fracture's smile. “Drift.” He said after a moment, casting his optics downwards—downwards to the tiny, heavily swaddled figures resting in his arms. “Don't you want to see your newsparks?”

“I recommend it.” Fixit suddenly said. The Minicon was resting on a small stack of Earthen debris fashioned into a make-do chair suitable for his unusually built frame. The chair was positioned right beside Fracture's birth, and around it were stacks of unfilled newspark-sized energon cubes arranged neatly. Fixit too looked tired because—Drift knew and was thankful for—he had been the one assisting Fracture throughout the entire ordeal. Him, Bumblebee and Strongarm. And—from what Drift had observed through protective glass, and had once again been thankful for—his commitment to his patient's health extended well into post-nascency care. “And not just to strengthen your bond this early on. Better for you enjoy them now before they start walking—stalking— _TUH_ —talking back.” His attempt at humor fell flat. His vocals were strained, his vocalizer undoubtedly feeling as exhausted as the rest of him.

Drift bit his lower lip plate. “I—“ He felt his own voice hitch in throat. “Yes.” He said simply, sounding idiotic to his own audials.

“Go, Drift.” Fixit urged him. “Enjoy the moment between sire, carrier and newsparks. Before we let the others in. I believe that they, Optimus Prime especially, would like to meet the newest members of the cream—dream— _TUH_ —team as soon as he can.”

Drift nodded then moved towards the berth and to Fracture's side. The former Decepticon greeted him with a series of high-pitched clicks and pops—a secret language known only to those who wore the purple seal. Drift responded in kind, with subdued grunts and growls, before bending down to kiss his bondmate. 

Fixit regarded them warmly before quietly wheeling away. “I'll leave you alone.” He said while briefly looking back at them. “If you need anything, just ping me. I'll be right outside informing the others about the sparklings' and Fracture's conditions.” With a final curt nod, Fixit glided past the cloth curtains and was gone.

“...wow.” Drift exhaled, leaning against the wall. He ran his servo over his faceplate, breathing heavily and slowly as he did.

“How you holding up there, handsome?” Fracture asked him in a soft voice.

“As...best I can. I suppose.”

Fracture sighed. “Tell me about it. Fast Time here,” Fracture pointed to the bulkiest, darkest-colored sparkling with his chin. “couldn't wait to get out of me. Risky Business?” He then pointed to the smallest, lightest-colored one. “Complete opposite.”

Drift blinked. “ 'Fast Time'? 'Risky Business'?”

“And Overboard and Moonstruck.” He pointed to the longest one, then the one with the largest optic shutters. “Just like we agreed on.” Fracture declared proudly, better showing off the sleeping sparklings nestled comfortably in his embrace. 

Drift moved in for a closer look. 

He stared. He stared because that was all he could do. He could only stare in silence at the miniscule protoforms and their varying degrees of silver coloration, at their closed optics and rounded heads that peeked out from the bundles of blankets that kept them warm, at every little movement they made in their sleep. Drift stared and, as an unknown lump formed in his throat and a welcoming heat clutched at his spark, made careful note to store this permanently in his memory banks. There was no way he was going to risk ever forgetting the first moment he ever shared with his sparklings.

His and Fracture's.

Theirs.

Joy. Awe. Relief. It all came flooding back.

“Two mechs. Two femmes.” Came Fracture's voice, so full of emotions he'd never displayed this openly before. “Four newsparks for the price of one conception. Give yourself a pat on the back, Drift, you're an absolute beast.”

The booming laugh that erupted from Drift's intake took both mechs by surprise. It died down as quickly as it came out when the tiniest newspark, Risky Business, whimpered pitifully.

“Drift!” Fracture hissed, baring his fanged dentae in warning.

“Apologies, apologies! I had—it is just— _come here you_.” Drift knelt at Fracture'es bedisde to wrap his arm around the other mech's shoulder. “ _All of you_.”

Drift rested his helm against Fracture's and together they did something they had never done before.

They cried.

Loud enough that they could hear themselves, yet gentle enough not to awaken their slumbering brood, Drift and Fracture abandoned their inhibitions and allowed themselves to cry. 

“Thank Primus nobody else is here to see us like this.” Drift murmured, sniffling.

“I know. We're a mess.” Fracture concurred between sobs. “It's the fragging anesthesia and fragging carrier protocols. They've ruined me.”

“No, no they haven't. You're perfect, just perfect. All of you.”

“Oh shut up, you!” Fracture half-snarled, half-sobbed. With his arms occupied by their sparklings, he could only let the tears flow freely down his faceplate. Drift, ever the devoted bondmate, wiped away the gleaming streaks of optic fluid with his digits until Fracture's faceplate was pristine. “You never called me 'perfect' before.” Fracture muttered suddenly, leaning his cheek into Drift's servo.

“You never played by the rules before.” Drift replied as he withdrew to look at Fracture's face.

“Only because _you_ wouldn't shut up about them.” Fracture retorted.

“The times have changed. _We_ have changed.”

“A _lot_.”

“Yes.” Drift said, nodding. “Yes, yes we have.” He choked on the last word but didn't care. Once again he put his helm against Fracture's, closing his optics this time.

He heard Fracture whisper. “Did you ever imagine it'd come to this?”

“Did you?” Drift shot back as he reopened his optics.

Fracture was looking straight at him, optics still bright with tears. “No. To be perfectly honest with you, I never thought I'd live this long. But I'm glad I did.” He cast a brief glance to his sparklings.

“I am as well.” Drift admitted, giving Fracture a kiss.

Fracture pulled back and grinned. “Enough of this corny melodrama, then. Let's introduce Jetstorm, Divebomb, Slipstream and Airazor to their new brothers and sisters.”


	11. The Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sort-of follow-up to _A Song and Dance of Swords_. In which we get an idea of the extent of Drift and Fracture's curious relationship. Or rather, Sideswipe does. And he doesn't like it.

It was the best they could do with the tools that they had. The temporary prison was nothing more than a tight box and bars cobbled together from the detritus that Denny was only slightly willing to part with; terribly crude and none too impressive. To the Autobots who had the misfortune of building and beholding it, it seemed more like a depressing afterthought than a provisional holding cell for the Decepticon in their captivity. To Fixit, who had to bring them the bad news of the Steeljaw-and-company-damaged stasis pods, it would have to do. To Fracture, who had the displeasure of spending the night in it, it wasn't the worst accommodations he'd been set up with, though it was definitely up there.

“Maybe a little company would make it better.” He had said while throwing an impassive-looking Drift a sly wink.

“Just get in there.” Drift had said when he shoved Fracture inside.

Those were the last words Drift would say for the rest of the night. Immediately after closing the “door” (lazily welded-together sheet metal, more like) on Fracture, he hastily excused himself and retired to his ship to rest, his Minicons faithfully following at his heels. Everyone was too overworked to think much of it—everyone but Sideswipe.

“Fracture's a wily one, Bee.” He had said to a tired-looking Bumblebee. “That dinky little shack's not gonna be enough to hold him in. He's cuffed, yeah, but I really don't think that's gonna be enough.”

“So...what are you proposing, Sideswipe?” Bumblebee had asked him.

Tonight, Sideswipe was standing watch. Unusual yet not wholly unwelcome. Unusual, because Sideswipe volunteered to guard Fracture with an almost disturbing level of enthusiasm, sufficiently unsettling nearly all other members of the Bee Team. Not wholly unwelcome, because said members of the Bee Team—sans Sideswipe—were thoroughly exhausted by the day's events and wanted nothing more than to recharge. Bumblebee gave Sideswipe a few words of thanks and encouragement before he turned in for the night.

Once he was certain he was alone, the red mech went to work.

Sideswipe cautiously peered through the window cut into the door. His optics adjusted to the lack of light and then caught sight of the bound form seated in the center of the small room.

Red optics glared directly into Sideswipe's blue ones. The shape that piercing gaze belonged to didn't move. Sideswipe calibrated his optics in hopes of getting a clearer view of the cell's occupant. From what he could see, Fracture looked bored. He _sounded_ bored even as he acknowledged Sideswipe. “Whaddayawant, kid? A bedtime story?”

Sideswipe shook his helm. “No. Information.”

“On what? On Steeljaw?” Fracture's stare narrowed. “Forget it. That's on a need-to-know basis, and you don't need to know.”

“No.”

The red optics flared to life. “No?” Fracture tilted his helm to the side, genuine curiosity clear on his faceplate.

“No.” Sideswipe repeated firmly.

“Then what—” Understanding dawned on Fracture. “Oh.” He murmured as his intake twisted into a smile. “ _Oh_.”

“Lay it on me, Fracture. Plain and simple...” Sideswipe trailed off as Fracture suddenly stood up and padded towards him. A great weight suddenly settled into his fuel tank. Even with those claws bound in stasis cuffs, just being this close to the bounty hunter made him nervous. Fracture stopped right in front of him, putting a scarce few feet between them. He was close for Sideswipe to see the light bruises on his lip-components. No doubt left there by none other than Drift. Sideswipe suddenly noticed that Fracture had a few more light-colored bruises smattering his prominent jawline and neck...were those...

“Lay what on you, kid?” Fracture purred, breaking Sideswipe's illicit train of thought.

The younger mech shuddered in disgust. “What's up with you and Drift?” He finally said.

Fracture chuckled. “You tell me, kid.”

“That...kiss you and him had. That wasn't _just_ a kiss was it?” Sideswipe shuddered again as he remembered. 

“Sure, kid.”

“I'm not gonna stop until you tell me what I want to hear.” Sideswipe's voice took on a dangerous edge. He was tempted to stick a digit into the space between them to emphasize his point. Very tempted. But those jagged dentae looked like they could easily bite it off. He instead opted to make his voice sound as low and serious as possible. “So unless you want to be kept up all night, you're gonna do just that.”

Fracture stared at him in silence for almost a minute, his expression unreadable. “It's complicated.”

Jackpot. “I figured. How complicated?”

Fracture raised his servos. “Free my servos and I'll draw you chart.”

“Fat chance.” Sideswipe paused. The gravity of Fracture's response suddenly hit him. “Wait, is it _that_ complicated?”

The sudden flash of dentae made Sideswipe's fuel tank churn. 'Ominous' was too gentle a word to describe it. Being on the receiving end of Fracture's toothy smile was an unsettling experience. “Do you really want to know?” Fracture asked with a voice that sounded better suited to the berth.

“I—” Sideswipe faltered but stood his ground. “...yes.”

He watched as Fracture shrugged and rolled his shoulders. The bounty hunter looked Sideswipe dead in the optic as he spoke with the utmost seriousness. “He's got the biggest spike I've ever seen, and I'm a shameless little size queen.”

The color drained from Sideswipe's already pale faceplate. His once-neutral expression fell and morphed into one of pure horror and disgust. “Oh, Primus, _no_!”

“Oh, Primus, _yes_!” Fracture's baying laughter reverberated within his cell. “Did you really think that kissing's all we did? Oh, sure, we did a _lo-ot_ of kissing but,” He pointed to his arched-up lip-components. “these ain't the only pair of lips Drift's gotten his glossa into!”

Sideswipe backed away from Fracture's cell, one step at a time. He just wanted to know the truth about Drift and Fracture, he didn't ask for...for _this_. “ _Ga-ah_ , stop talking! Stop talking!” He was practically begging at this point. The images running wild in his processor were anything but pleasant.

“Wait, kid, come back!” Came Fracture's sardonic voice and mocking howling. “I've got so much more to tell you! Don't you wanna hear about how Drift pounded my sweet little pussy non-stop when I was pregnant with Airazor and Divebomb? That's why my Minicons turned out so tough. 'Cos Drift was their transfluid donator for most of my gestation. Now you know!”

 _That_ Sideswipe did not need to know. Among many others. “Shutupshutupshutup!”

“Or maybe I could regale you with the story of how I convinced Drift to agree to a threesome with another bounty hunter. That no-good slag heap thought I couldn't take two spikes in my valve at once. Proved him wrong, and then some.” Fracture sighed wistfully. “That's why I had to get some work done down there. I thought my valve would be able to regain its shape on its own. Not with the damage Drift and Lockdown did. Or was it Devcon? Smelt me, I can't even remember anymore. We've shared our berth with so many...”

“No more! Just—”

“The one where we thought we were gonna die on Athenia is a good one too. We did almost everything we'd wanted to do before but never got the chance to 'cos good ol' Drift's too honorable. Nothing like brushing close to death to lower your inhibitions, I guess. Without giving too much away this early on, let's just say that I'm more than a little familiar with those blades of his.”

Sideswipe let out even more disgusted sounds. Unwilling to endure Fracture any longer, he turned on his pedes to walk away. “Oh slag this, I am—” 

“Hey!” Fracture yelled after him. “You really gonna leave me, your prisoner, _unguarded_?”

Sideswipe froze. His energon lines felt cold. Of course, he couldn't just get up and scuttle off. Not after the show he made in front of Bumblebee. Not after promising the yellow bot multiple times that he was going to take this seriously and that he wasn't just doing this to spite Strongarm. If he left Fracture alone now... “I—I—”

“And you can't just turn off your audio receptors either.” Sideswipe could hear the smile in Fracture's voice. “What if I somehow manage to escape and you don't hear me?”

Sideswipe swallowed. He was cornered. “I— _Oh, Primus_.” 

“C'mere, kid. Have I got a story for you. Or two.”

* * *

“Sideswipe, you look—”

The red mech sent a weary but deadly glare in Drift's direction. He was seated on the ground and hunched over; the dark rings under his dull optics told the samurai everything he needed to know.

“Don't. Just don't. The prisoner,” Sideswipe pointed to Fracture's cell with his thumb. “kept me up all night.”

Drift frowned. “I am not surprised. Fracture is rather well-versed in tormenting others by verbal means.”

“ 'A glossa of gold', that's what you told him.” Sideswipe murmured sleepily.

“ _Excuse me_?” Drift balked at what he thought he heard.

“Nothing. It's nothing.” Sideswipe yawned and buried his faceplate in his servos for a moment. He lifted his helm up again to look at Drift questioningly. “Why're you here, Drift?”

“Bumblebee informed me of your volunteering for guard duty. It only felt right for me to relieve you of it come the morning light. After all...”

“This wouldn't be the first time you've seen him in chains...” Sideswipe interjected softly.

“ _What_?”

“Nothing. Thanks. I guess. I—I'm gonna go recharge. Thanks again.” Sideswipe struggled to his feet then began to trudge off once he gained some semblance of balance. As he wobbled a little past Drift, he glanced at the larger mech one final time, his gaze an intense and seemingly ruminative one.

Drift squirmed a little. Sideswipe had never looked at him like that before. “What is it?”

Sideswipe waved his servo dismissively. “Nothing. It's nothing. You go ahead and do your thing...bumper buns.”


End file.
